


Early Days

by Marmosette



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-19
Updated: 2012-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 10:06:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marmosette/pseuds/Marmosette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft happens to run into Lestrade, completely by accident, at Speedy's. Had no idea he'd be there. Nope. None at all. Fancy that. Small world, eh?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early Days

“He’s got ten minutes, then I’m coming up,” Greg snapped into his mobile, then jammed the _end call_ button. He fumed on the pavement for a moment, then turned and strode into the cafe. It was a bright day out, his dark jacket was already warm from the sun, and his eyes sore from squinting. He’d left his sunglasses in the car, and he could barely see the counter. “Black coffee,” he said in the general direction of the till, rubbing his eyes.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

He froze, not quite daring to look up, already grinning stupidly and cursing himself. “Ah. Mr. Holmes?”

“Indeed. Mycroft, please.”

Greg looked up at the man, one elbow leaning against the counter, staring past him out the door. This time it was a light grey suit, a dark blue tie, and yes, still wearing a waistcoat. And carrying the umbrella. Serious as always.

“You already shouted at him, then?” Greg asked, turning back to the till and fishing in his pocket for change.

“He’s in fine form today,” Mycroft said, his tone making it clear that he thought Sherlock anything but. “He threw a mug out the window earlier when John asked if wanted tea.”

“Christ.” Greg handed over his money and accepted the paper cup, then nodded toward the tables. “I’m going to have to wait anyway.”

“You may as well call now for backup,” Mycroft said drily, following him to the table. “I’m afraid I didn’t anticipate anyone else needing to speak to him today.”

“Yeah. Got a case about three dead squirrels shoved through a letterbox.” Mycroft looked up at him, and Greg raised a hand. “No, you do not want to know.”

“Doesn’t really sound his sort of thing.”

“Oh there’s more to it.”

“If it’s bizarre enough, I’m surprised you had to argue.”

“He wanted me to bring the squirrels to him.”

Mycroft paused. “I don’t think I’ll ask.”

“Best not,” Greg agreed, taking a sip of coffee. “And what did you two argue about this time?”

Mycroft sighed, his gaze drifting away to the front window again. “A diplomatic matter. My brother’s been a bit indiscreet. I have warned them not to rely on him, but you’ve given him such a reputation, I’m afraid...” He trailed off with a shrug.

“I can stop asking him,” Greg offered blandly.

“You misunderstand,” Mycroft said with one of his quick, brittle smiles. “It is your casework that soothes him. However much he protests otherwise. He simply isn’t suitable for more... subtle work.” Mycroft’s expression drifted toward a frown as he sipped his tea.

“So you’re saying police work isn’t subtle,” Greg prodded.

“I’m sure it varies.”

“Three squirrels and a naked man on the doorstep. That’s not subtle.”

Mycroft’s eyes closed briefly. “As long as it wasn’t Sherlock.”

“Ha. No. Why, is prone to stripping and getting concussed in Battersea?”

“I try not to know those things.”

“Is it any better in your line?”

Mycroft pursed his lips, considering the question. “No. Not really. The species may vary a bit, though.”

“Red squirrels instead of grey?”

“Possibly.”

Greg smiled, hiding it behind his coffee. “So are you waiting for him to cool down before you have another go at him?” he asked.

“Yes,” Mycroft said. Quickly. Decisively. His eyes on the front door. 

“Only I’ve given him ten minutes before I go up and drag him down.”

“Ah.” Mycroft’s eyes moved down to his tea.

“And I’ve got a car coming back to pick us up.”

“Optimistic.”

“I’m pretty sure I can take him.”

Mycroft looked up, one eyebrow lifted.

“What, your brother? Skinny streak of...nothing?”

Mycroft looked down, both eyebrows lifted.

“You’re joking.”

“I suggest that rather than forcing a physical confrontation, you have another case, something a bit more ordinary, but urgent.”

“And he’ll take the more interesting of the two?”

“No, no. But if you’re about to leave and ignore the bizarre...”

“He’ll jump at it.”

“He may. Or he may have worked it out while running the clock down.”

Greg laughed, then hesitated. “You’re not kidding, are you.”

A shrug. “It will depend on how many details you’ve given him.”

“But I don’t even know -”

Mycroft raised a hand. “And I don’t wish to. If he knows we’ve spoken, I’m afraid there’s no predicting what he might do.”

“And how would he know that?” Greg stopped, took a breath, thought again, then set one finger on the table. “You knew I’d be coming here, didn’t you? Somehow, you knew.”

“How could I possibly?” Mycroft laughed.

“I dunno how it’s possible. I don’t understand half the things you and your brother say when you get warmed up. But you knew I’d be here. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Mycroft set his tea down, his long fingers turning the mug in place before he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Interrogation, Detective Inspector?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Greg said calmly. “I thought you were flirting.”


End file.
